


Sleeves

by amminyard



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras Has Tattoos, M/M, just a little 1000 word story to get back into writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3484493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amminyard/pseuds/amminyard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras has the most beautiful tattoo sleeves to ever exist, and it most definitely has no effect on Grantaire whatsoever (except that it really, really does).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeves

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing something for the first time in a while and I really liked the idea of tattooed Enjolras. So here it is.

Enjolras is wearing a button down.

Enjolras is wearing a button down with his sleeves rolled up.

Enjolras has tattoo sleeves.

Enjolras has very beautiful tattoo sleeves: a flurry of red and gold wrapped all the way around both arms.

Grantaire is most definitely not bothered or distracted by this.

They had all met at a little hole-in-the-wall bar that they frequent regularly. This time, however, Courfeyrac had managed to get Enjolras there too. And he is wearing skinny jeans and a button down. And his sleeves are up. And he has _tattoos_.

Grantaire only realizes he’s staring when Bahorel plops down next to him. Eponine tends to be the first one to sit down and match him shot for shot, but he looks up and sees her dancing with Cosette and Marius. He smiles slightly.

“Honestly, if you stare much harder, he might actually notice for once,” Bahorel says, grinning. He orders a round for both of them.

“He has tattoos. Not just tattoos either, tattoo sleeves. Like the most beautiful sleeves I’ve ever seen. What have I done to deserve this torture, Bahorel? What have I done?”

“Well, let’s see. There was that one time you got Joly and Bossuet absolutely wasted and then passed out, leaving Musichetta to deal with the both of them. And that one time you had Courfeyrac give Combeferre a lap dance after jumping out of the birthday cake. And that one time you told Marius—“

“Okay, okay, I got it, Bahorel. What a pal you are, man.”

“Anytime, babe.” He downs his shot and Grantaire follows his example. He looks to the bartender. “Something a little lighter, my friend?”

The bartender nods, pouring them a new drink.

After that, Feuilly shows up and Bahorel leaves to dance with him.

Then Enjolras sits down next to Grantaire and orders a drink. He’s attempting to smile and act like he isn’t completely out of his element as not to disappoint Courfeyrac. Even a fake smile looks good on him. Grantaire is absolutely enamored, as per usual.

“Hello, Apollo. Have you come to grace me with your presence? I am honored, truly.”

Enjolras nods at him, almost imperceptibly. “Always a pleasure, R.”

The bartender hands Enjolras his drink. He looks as if he’s about to return to Courfeyrac but he stays sitting. He keeps his gaze towards the dance floor where Cosette is swing dancing with Jehan, Eponine is trying (and failing) to teach Marius to swing along, and Courfeyrac is trying to get Combeferre to loosen up (he’s making a bit more progress than Eponine, but that’s not saying much).

The cynic takes another swig of his drink and sits in silence. He’s taking advantage of this chance to see (that is, stare at) the sleeves up close.

After a few minutes, Enjolras looks back over at Grantaire and catches him staring. He raises his eyebrows slightly and smirks. “Looking at something, R?” He sounds faintly amused.

Grantaire jumps and looks away from the sleeves. He clears his throat. “I’m always looking, but never at anything in particular.”

“Oh?”

Grantaire nods solemnly. “In the whirlwind of life, there is so much to look at that I’ve decided to spend my days looking at absolutely nothing.”

“Have you told that to Jehan? I think they’d like it. It's quite poetic.”

“I’ll tell them next time I speak to them, dearest. Don’t worry.”

“Well, as poetic as that was, I was quite sure you were staring at my tattoos.”

Grantaire goes red. “I, um. Of course I wasn’t—“

“If you were, that’s fine. They don’t see the light very often.” Enjolras moves a bit closer and holds out his arms. “And if there’s anyone who can appreciate the design, it’s you.”

Grantaire visibly relaxes and then leans down to examine the sleeves. What seemed like simple reds and golds before start to take shape. There are little symbols hidden all throughout the spirals. Grantaire catches a flower first (for Jehan—it was a chrysanthemum: the first flower they ever braided into Enjolras’s hair). Then he sees a compass for Combeferre. And then it’s a pair of boxing gloves for Bahorel, a four-leaf clover for Bossuet, a caduceus for Joly. There’s a bow tie for Courf (because the man is naked without it, honestly) and a pair of ballet shoes for Cosette. There’s a broken heart fixed up with patches and poor sewing for Eponine. (That one makes Grantaire’s heart wrench.) Feuilly’s is an alarm clock set at 3 AM. (The poor guy never gets any sleep with all of his extra shifts.) Cupid’s bow and arrow is for love-struck Marius (dating two firecrackers at once). For Musichetta, he has an anchor (because one has to be strong and grounding to put up with both Joly and Bossuet on a regular basis). He sees his own symbol last, a paintbrush on the inside of Enjolras’s wrist.

“These are incredible, Enjolras. The detail is breathtaking.”

“Thank you. I’m quite fond of them.” He sounds as if he is genuinely smiling.

Grantaire looks up to check, disbelief written all over his face. He finds that the blond is smiling, for real this time, a sight more stunning than the ink winding its way up his arms. He’s distracted by the smile; he doesn’t realize exactly how close he is to the fearless leader. That is, he doesn’t realize until they lock eyes.

Enjolras moves forward slowly, slower than Grantaire thought possible. When Enjolras is almost to him, Grantaire slowly moves his hand from Enjolras’s forearm to wrap his fingers around his wrist, where his paintbrush lies inked into the blond’s skin. When Enjolras kisses him, his other hand comes up to cup Enjolras’s face, but he never lets go of the paintbrush, of his wrist. He rubs his thumb across it absently, caught up completely in the lips pressed softly to his own. They break the kiss, but Grantaire keeps his hand on Enjolras’s wrist.

He doesn’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr; come say hi or stay a while @amminyard


End file.
